The Book of Ruth: Doing Ruth Pt. 01

- 1986 - Summer Solstice

The official first day of summer 1986 in already-hot Washington D.C. was rather milder than where I had just been.

I was back from sweltering Trinidad. One of our regular tin suppliers was a blatant thief but politically connected, of course. The necessary fix took a nasty bit of bribery and blackmail. Good thing Gabby knew whose buttons I should push there. Sometimes I think Gabby is Jill's REAL second-in-command at TBI and I'm just a figurehead. Oh well, at least I get paid.

I crawled out of the airport shuttle (cheaper than a taxi) from Dulles International, smoothed the fabric of my white 'tropical' suit (wicking synthetics, of course), grabbed my usual two bags, and headed for our discretely-marked office entrance.

A distantly familiar shout stopped me in my tracks. "HEY, DIPSHIT!"

There was no mistaking that dulcet bellow. Ruth Shapiro! Oy! I slowly turned around and dropped my bags as she hurtled toward me, grabbed me, almost knocked me over.

I gently disentangled myself from her sleek grasping twenty-year-old limbs. "Hi there, Ruthie, nice to see you again too."

I surveyed Ruth's luscious figure. Tall, almost six feet, a few inches shorter than me. Still slim-but-curvy; sharp aquiline features; long walnut hair flowing out the back of her Orioles ballcap; great legs emerging from her blue shorts; nice breasts inside her jog bra and pink ART FART tee. Hot girl!

She stood back and looked at me, a canvas bookbag dangling from one shoulder. Then she scowled and started punching my chest and arms. Hard. Ouch.

"YOU DIPSHIT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE! LEAVE ME ALONE!" And on and on.

I stood still, stunned. We were attracting attention. Passersby stopped and stared. A D.C. Metro Police patrol car pulled up to the curb and a young black officer walked quickly to us.

"Got a problem here, ma'am?" he asked, fingering his baton.

"THIS MOTHERFUCKER, THIS DIPSHIT, I CAN'T STAND HIM, HE'S SUCH AN ASSHOLE!" And on and on again.

The cop gave a slight shrug and looked at me. "May I see some I.D. please, sir?" he asked when Ruth stopped to draw a breath.

I sighed and slowly extracted my passport case from inside my jacket. I handed him my passport and my local business card showing the address we stood in front of.

Ruth stood quietly fuming. The cop turned to her. "And you, ma'am? Any identification?"

She stiffly reached into her book bag, pulled out a wallet, and passed him a California driver's license and what looked like a student ID card. He looked at our credentials, then back up at us.

"Okay, what seems to be the problem?"

"Uh well, Miss Shapiro is a long-time family friend I haven't seen for a couple years. I just got in from overseas, heading to my office here." I gestured at the building. "When I left the airport shuttle, Miss Shapiro greeted me in her rather, uh, unorthodox way."

The cop glanced at our IDs again. "Miss Shapiro, has, uh, Mr van Ronk hurt you?"

"That sonofabitch! He just left me standing there! And now he shows up here! You dipshit! Why does it have to be you? Why do you have to be so, so... so RANDY? What the fuck are you doing here? Why can't you just leave me be?"

"Miss Shapiro, are you saying than Mr van Ronk abandoned you? Or harrassed you?"

Ruth just fumed. I spoke.

"I last saw Ruth two summers ago in Los Angeles, just before her father sent her to Florida and I transferred here to D.C. We had an appointment that fell through - nobody's fault. Ruth has always felt rather, uh, tempestuous around me. But I'm pretty surprised at this."

The cop looked back at Ruth. She visibly controlled herself and took a few deep breaths - which naturally displayed her impressive chest to best advantage. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then looked at the waiting cop, and then at me.

"I think I got carried away. I've been thinking of Randy too much, and seeing him now, well, it just set me off. Randy, I'm sorry. I've never really been good at anger management, y'know that. But I'm sorry I hit you and yelled at you. I just... oh shit, I'm sorry."

I reached out and touched her elbow. "Apology accepted, Ruth. Um, are you in a hurry? Would you like to talk?" She nodded, stiff and short.

The cop handed our IDs back to us. "Try to keep it quieter, okay? And if you can't, then at least get a room and keep it private. I don't want to see either of you again."

As he walked back to his patrol car I thought I heard him mumble, "Crazy fucking honkies!"

Ruth quivered. Her facial expression changed about twice per second, a range of mostly unreadable emotions. I touched her elbow again.

"Ruth, I'm going in here. My office is inside and my condo is upstairs. I need to drop my bags and clean up. Would you like to come with me, have something to drink, talk a bit?"

She nodded. I picked up my bags and walked into the building lobby - the TBI office was in back - set the bags down, and punched the elevator for my residence floor. We rode up in silence. I opened the room door. Ruth followed me in.

Once inside, all our bags hit the floor, and Ruth grabbed me again. She held me tight and joined our mouths together and almost touched my epiglottis with her tongue. I will admit to putting my hands firmly on her tight butt and pulling her close. After a minute or ten, she backed away, then clenched me tightly again.

"Oh fuck Randy, you don't know how long I've wanted this!" She kissed me again, softer.

Still clenched, I rubbed her butt and back. She leaned her head on my shoulder. We stood quietly for awhile. I finally disengaged again.

"Look, truth is, I'm just back from a tropical hell. I feel like half the jungle is crawling on me, and I'm three-quarters dead. I need a drink and a shower and another drink. I might rejoin humanity after that, okay?"

"Sure. What are the drink options?" Ruth held my hands and would not let go.

"Beers, wines, sodas, juices in the fridge; tequilas, rums, whiskies, vodkas in the cabinet; filtered water at the tap. I'm going to start with a double shot of Tres Mujeres mezcal and a total scrub-down. Help yourself."

I pulled her close, kissed her quickly, then opened the cabinet and poured my amber dose. I filled my mouth with elegant cactus juice and headed for the bath, tossing clothes aside as I stumbled toward wet rejuvenation.

[Yes, yes, I know - mezcal and tequila are distilled from the maguey agave plant, not from a cactus. That "cactus juice" bit was a METAPHOR, a suggestion of its sharp flavor. Please do not send the author nasty notes of disapproval. Thank you.]

This is typically the point in a story where the narrator has his scalp lathered-up and eyes closed, hot water streaming happily over him, and he feels a breeze as the shower door opens and a naked woman steps in with him. Guess what? That is exactly what happened!

Ruth pressed her breasts against my back and melded herself to me by grasping my cock with both hands and squeezing her elbows against my sides while grinding her crotch into my ass. Tired and weary as it was, my cock responded. Wouldn't yours?

We hugged and scrubbed and hugged some more. We rinsed, and turned off the flow of water. Yes, I kissed her breasts and sucked her nipples. Yes, she dropped to her knees and licked my cock. Yes, her tongue felt familiar - not so different from her big sister and mother. Yes, I came in her mouth. Wouldn't you?

We rinsed again, and stepped out and dried off, then hugged and kissed some more.

"I'm sorry, Randy, I'm so sorry; please forgive me, please?" She stared into my face.

Yes, Ruth had always been rather... tempestuous... around me, starting eight years ago when she was just twelve. Ruth, still laden with baby fat then, was her big sister Rachel's 'helper' at her vendor's cart on Fairfax south of West Hollywood. Ruth called me 'stinky' and 'dipshit'. She verbally abused me for years.

Why? Because she was jealous. Jealous of her sister Rachel, and their hot mom Deborah. Jealous, because I was screwing Rachel and Deb, and Ruth was far too young then to be getting any.

Ruth's state of mind certainly was not improved after our last encounter, almost two years ago, when naked Ruth and her best friend Katia had offered themselves to me, and I teasingly skipped out. Ruth was shipped away by her family the next day, and I'd had Katia for several months. Yes, I knew why Ruth was so pissed.

Ruth had told Katia that I would eventually be her slave. We would see about that, hey?

I kissed Ruth again. "What's there to forgive? Just stop slugging me, okay?"

"I'll only slug you when you deserve it. Can I have a glass of wine?"

"Sure thing." I pushed her beautiful bare butt toward the wine rack. "How about a Grenache Rosé?"

She nodded. I uncorked and poured the light pink wine into champagne flutes. (They were cheap glasses from WalMart, of course.) I handed one to her.

"To calmer times," I toasted, clinking our glasses.

"Uh, yeah Randy, that sounds like a good idea."

"Now, sit your cute ass down somewhere and tell me what the fuck is going on."

"Come over here." She pushed me into the bedroom and positioned herself yoga-style at the head of the bed. "C'mon, right here." She patted the bed in front of her. I sat, mirroring her cross-legged posture, almost knee-to-knee. We had nice views of each other's genitals.

I started with small talk, catching-up talk, light questions.

"So what are you doing in D.C.? Last I heard, you were at Cal Arts. You're a design major, something like that, right? This is a long way from Valencia and Hollywood."

"Yeah, well, Dad sent me there, and it's a great place if you want to work for Disney or Warners later, but I found that it wasn't my thing. I'm no artist, not really."

"Well, a bullshit artist, maybe," I teased. She scowled and continued.

"But it turns out, I can work with numbers, and I can work with artists. I'm hot on gallery management and curating, showcasing art, that sort of stuff. I talked Dad into switching me to the Corcoran here. It costs about the same as Cal Arts. I'll take a Master's in exhibition design eventually. That's my goal. Y'know Dad's law firm mainly represents the studios. He's a bit disappointed I won't be there, but he figures that with my connection, he can be a shyster for galleries too."

I was puzzled. "What, the Corcoran Gallery is a college?"

"No, stinky, I mean dummy, I mean Randy, the Corcoran RUNS a college, right out of the gallery, across from the White House. It's just a few blocks from here."

"Sounds interesting. So you live here now?"

"Yeah, I share a condo nearby with a couple other students. They're wild girls. I've calmed down a lot. Well, except when I see YOU, stinky, I mean Randy." She giggled.

Damn, that is the first time I've ever heard her giggle! I did not know she had it in her.

"So what else is happening? How's your family? I haven't heard from anyone lately."

Ruth sipped her wine, leaned down and kissed the end of my cock, the sat up again and took another sip.

"Rachel moved around a lot after you dumped her. She..."

I interrupted. "Hey, I did not dump her. She was pulling trains with every dick in town, and then she took off, for...? Where? Chicago, Omaha, some fucking midwestern place."

"Okay, so she went overboard a little."

I snorted. A little, huh? Hah, she sure had her fun! Not that I didn't too, oh yeah...

"Anyway, yeah, she was at U Chicago for a while, then went to U Nebraska in Lincoln, the best part of Nebraska, which ain't saying much. Then St Louis, and Memphis, and finally New Orleans. She married a banker there. Don't know how long they'll last - Ferdie is NOWHERE near ready for her. But that's their problem."

I shrugged. And I thought that maybe I would look up Rachel some time. Hey, N'O'leans is in my territory. I hope she had kept her figure. Did she still jog?

"Y'know that Mom dumped Dad. She's gone through about three dozen tennis instructors and personal trainers since then, all paid for with Dad's alimony. She works out like crazy. Almost looks better than me."

Oh yes, I remember Deb's lovely tight MILF body very well. Rather like Ruth's, in fact. And Rachel's too, at her age. Those gals sure came from a good gene pool. Keep themselves in shape and they will be fucking GORGEOUS for a long long time.

Ruth sipped her wine again, and leaned to kiss my cock again, and sat back up and emptied her glass.

"Finish your wine, guy. We can talk more later. Right now, you need to fuck me. Right now."

I drained my glass and took hers. I set both flutes on the floor. Ruth stretched her legs, with her toned thighs spread wide, and pulled me on top of her. Her kisses had hardened me already. I could smell her spicy arousal and see her labia glistening with lust.

"Forget the foreplay, guy. Just fuck me. C'mon, like you should have, years ago!"

She aimed my naked cock at her target. I slid right in.

"Oh fuck," she whispered. I agreed.

She raised and wrapped her long legs around mine, then slid her heels up to dig into my buns. She pulled me deep into her. Oh fuck, this was nice! I started slow, She pulled me tighter, deeper. Her strawberry mouth devoured mine. Oh fuck, she was hot and wet and hungry! I moved faster - but not too fast, not yet.

Ruth had sucked me to orgasm not too long before. At age twenty-six I did not have my youthful powers of instant rejuvenation, so I lasted quite a while, much to Ruth's joy. Various speeds and angles and orgasmic responses. Damn, she could howl!

I was deep inside her warm wet tunnel. She groaned louder, "Oh fuck yeah!"

I stayed fully embedded for a few seconds more - and then pulled out! I flipped her over and did her doggie-style. My penetration pushed even deeper. Ruth whimpered.

I wasted no time. This was neither slow tender joining nor meaningful lovemaking. This was fast raw sex, brutal and direct. I pounded her butt and twisted her nipples. She pounded back and squealed and sweated. I reached down to strum her anxious clit. We pounded harder.

Ruth came with long moans. "Oh fuck, oh fuck me, oh that's nice, ahhh..."

She came again, a little louder. "Oh. Oh. Ohhh..." Her breath was ragged.

Her cumming counterpointed a continuous litany. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck omigod..."

Her last climactic spasm finally triggered my long-overdue eruption. We howled together as I fired what seemed a never-ending stream of heat-seeking spermy missiles into her willing womb. Target destroyed!

We stilled, and lay together, panting.

Ruth clung to me like a lost soul reaching for salvation. She held me and cried. If I tried to move, she cinched-down even tighter, pinning me to her body. I was trapped in her tears.

Ruth's voice rattled between her sobs. "Oh fuck Ran, oh no, oh no, don't ever go..."

I guess she had been crushing on me for a while, hey?

We screwed and talked and screwed some more, for hours and hours. I slowly developed an inside picture of Ruth, and it was like she was from a 50's song, WAIT FOR ME, a young girl chasing an older guy: "Wait for me... I love you more than I can hardly stand... I'll grow up just as fast as I can..."

"Why me?" I asked, playing with her puffy nipples.

"Quit that," she twitched. "Why you? Why me? Why not? Because you'd had Rachel and Mom, and who knows who else. And they thought you were great, and you were there for them, but you always ignored me. I was just the kid. I was always too young for you. Am I too young now?" She squeezed my cock.

"But I just knew I had to have you. It's fucking fate, you asshole." She pinched me back. Revenge?

"So what do you expect, now that you've found me? A shack-up?"

"Oh, pu-LEAZE, I know you're always on the road. But when you're here, I want you, as much as I can get. I know just what you are. You're a dick on wheels, like Mom's fucking little miniature greyhound. But not forever. Here in D.C., you're MY dick. And I'm yours, all the way. You just see. I'm gonna make you love me. You're gonna be mine, all mine."

"Helluva goal you've got there. Wouldn't you rather bag a banker?"

Ruth slapped at me. "Cut the shit! I know you! I want you! I'm gonna have you! You don't have a choice! Don't be an asshole!"

Ah yes, a fierce little vixen! But I knew better than to argue.

"Okay, so take me, I'm yours... for about as long as you can keep me."

Ruth dove for my cock again. I pulled her around till her knees straddled my head, and I slurped her gardenia pussy. The rest of the night was fun.

-

Gentle Readers, you may be entertaining serious thoughts now, thoughts about protection and the lack thereof. What, no precautions? How could we be so heedless of possible STDs and pregnancy?

I will offer no excuses, just a snapshot of the time. The year is 1986. STDs in the general (non-gay-male) USA population were generally treatable - not pleasant, but not invariably deadly, and not super-prevalent. The Pill was in widespread use and had informed and changed sexual activities for over a generation. Condoms were not seen as mandatory.

Okay, an excuse: Ruth pursued me and not vice-versa. Ruth initiated our sex play. Ruth said, "Fuck me," and I did. Ruth knew exactly what she wanted, had known that for a long time, and I was happy to oblige, finally. (Yeah, I was a big tease a couple years back.)

Guys, think about it: A hot girl you've known a third of her life opens wide and begs to be fucked. You are unattached. Do you refuse or quibble? Gals, if you invite sex, do you take responsibility for your protection?

- on toward 1989 -

You think we maybe settled down in some sort of domestic idyll, with Ruth faithfully tending house and studying while I did business stuff? Wrong!

I was typically in D.C. only a couple days every other week or so. I often returned to D.C. totally wiped from travel and trouble. Ruth left her student condo to overnight with me when I had the strength. If I was in for a weekend, we jogged and swam and did whatever was weather-appropriate. And fucked. And fucked some more. Otherwise, we lived separate lives.

I did not ask about her separate life, and she did not ask about mine. It was safer that way.

This state of affairs lasted for three years.

My life was the usual. Travel, work, exercise, fuck, mostly within my 'eastern' territory, sometimes around the world, and sometime back at the old home front. Yeah, I found myself in L.A. almost as often as I was in D.C. And JETLAG was my middle name.

Did I do anything except work and fuck? Sure. TBI was doing great business. Jill was a genius at making money and not spending much of it. Her tax team made sure our incomes were low-bracket but our perks were super. We did not bother with conspicuous consumption but we lived quite well. Maybe I will tell you about our art collections sometime. And our home improvements. And our tax-sheltered investments.

Being on the road full-time gets lonely. I looked forward to my home-port visits.

My strongest relationships were still with my sister Jill and our mom Nina. When we were home together, we were usually in bed together. Or screwing around the pool, sure. I really loved lying back with my mother impaled on my long cock and my mouth buried under my sister's pussy while they kissed and stroked and moaned. I could not get enough of this family togetherness.

But Jill was often on the road herself. And Nina spent much of her time with her night-shift buddy Bobby. My L.A. love life now revolved around Katia Fernandez - and her young MILF step-mom, Juanita.

I do not know when Juanita first took Katia as her lover. Katia's economist father Alonzo married the much younger woman after Katia's mother died. Juanita was only two years older than me and a decade older than her step-daughter; their relationship was more sisterly than motherly.